


Sláinte and Other Things We Shouldn't Say

by BuckinghamAlice



Series: Spending Holidays with the SuperBats [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Parenthood, St. Patrick's Day, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1321558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckinghamAlice/pseuds/BuckinghamAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce invites Clark over to have a St. Patrick's Day dinner, all the while struggling to come to terms with the fact that they are, in fact, in a relationship.  The evening takes a turn when teenaged Dick comes home after enjoying a couple too many green beers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sláinte and Other Things We Shouldn't Say

**Author's Note:**

> In case you don't know, sláinte is a Gaelic word that means "health" and is used as a drinking toast in Ireland, like saying "cheers" or "to your health."

“That’s an awfully fattening cut of meat, Alfred,” Bruce began. “Are you sure…?”

Alfred looked up from the brisket he was situating in a Dutch oven and sighed heavily. With a bored look and his usual dry tone, he said, “Master Bruce, I _assure_ you I know what I am doing. You asked your Mr. Kent here for a traditional St. Patrick’s Day dinner, and t _hat_ is what I’m preparing.”

Bruce eyed the meat again and sighed. “Very well. It does look… down home, as they say. I’m sure Clark will like it. And he isn’t _my_ Mr. Kent.”

“Of course not, sir,” Alfred replied, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. “I’m just thankful you have a _friend_ like him… at least he and Master Richard enjoy my food.”

Choosing to ignore the inflection Alfred had given the word “friend,” he supplied, “Dick won’t be joining us this evening. He had some party or other… with some of the kids from school.” Bruce wrinkled his nose. He still wasn’t sure that allowing Dick to go to that party had been a good idea… but he had already agreed. He did think it was good (and important) for Dick to socialize with the kids from school, try to have some semblance of a normal life, but he still worried. But he could trust Dick’s judgment, couldn’t he? Of course he could.

But as he often did, Alfred seemed to read Bruce’s mind. “The boy will be fine, I’m sure. He’s a responsible young man, is he not?”

Bruce nodded. “Mm.” Rather than continuing the discussion, he simply said, “Clark should be here soon.”

Alfred slid the pan into the oven. “And dinner will be ready at the usual time.” He dusted his hands (though no such action was necessary) and reached for the potatoes that were soaking in a bowl of water on the counter. “Now, unless you’d like to learn how to mash potatoes, you may go and wait for your guest.”

Bruce almost bristled at the dismissal, but Alfred was right. He should go and wait for Clark… he didn’t like to let Clark surprise him in most situations, so it was best to be waiting and on guard. Not that he thought of Clark as a threat he should keep mentally filed with the endless list of threats, but… well, being in a relationship wasn’t going to stop him from believing in being prepared for anything.

He almost stopped in his tracks because of the thought that had just passed through his head.   _Relationship_.  He had called it a relationship.  It wasn’t the idea that he minded – he quite liked that, if he was being honest with himself. It was this notion of labeling the thing between him and Clark, possibly cheapening it…

He sighed to himself and kept walking, because he didn’t have the time or desire to pursue that line of thought at the moment.

He went down to the Batcave, but he didn’t dress for work. He did go into the changing area, however, and stood before the mirror. He straightened the hem of the lightweight royal blue sweater he wore, checked the creases in his grey pants, and fussed over his hair for the second and third times. Then with a sigh and a cluck of his tongue, he muttered, “Primping like a kid on his first date.”

He was tempted to check his communicator and see if Clark was on his way yet, but he decided he could certainly wait. He was being ridiculous enough as it was.

With a sigh, he sat down in front of the computer and decided to read some reports, but he kept an eye on the monitor that showed the entrance to the Cave. Soon, the monitor showed that Clark was approaching and Bruce found, to his surprise, that he had to hold his breath in anticipation.

He turned around and there was Clark, grinning, cheeks rosy from the wind, and just… perfect. Whenever he flew in like this, it was always a quarter of a second before Bruce could even believe he was real.

“Bruce,” Clark breathed. “I…” He paused for just a bit and gave a playful little smile before adding, “Just a second.” He ducked into the changing area and Bruce finally exhaled. He was unprepared for the feeling he got when he saw Clark. It had been over a week since they had seen one another, and he realized that he had _missed_ the man. It was strange… before they started doing… _whatever_ they were doing, he never used to miss Clark. Not much anyways. But now, any longer than a day or two, and he actually… well, he almost _pined_ , not that he had any intention of admitting that. And he blamed Clark entirely.

He looked up just in time to see Clark coming back into the main area of the cave, wearing jeans (that hugged in the right places, the bastard) and a green dress shirt. Before Bruce had time to realize what was happening, he was in those strong arms and feeling himself getting flushed as their mouths met.

“Clark, I…”

“I missed you, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded and cleared his throat.  “Yes.  Well.”  It was _almost_ like admitting he had felt the same. But Clark’s arms were still around him, and though he realized he should be putting an end to this little interlude, he found himself wanting one more kiss, maybe more than that. His hands found their way to Clark’s belt and one was about to grab his ass (because grabbing Clark’s ass was one of Bruce’s favorite things that he could do now), when Clark brought his face close again.

He was close enough to kiss, but the corners of his mouth were curving into a smile. Bruce could tell he was trying to hide something, and then he grinned and said, “You aren’t wearing green.” Bruce realized what was happening just a second too slowly, because Clark already had him in an unbreakable grip and was giving him a playful pinch that actually felt more like a tickle.

Bruce squirmed and tried to fight a smile because this was honestly a bit too silly. He should have been annoyed, but he felt like he might laugh.

“Clark, really!” he huffed. “Are you an actual child?”

With a grin, he replied, “Maybe. But I call it having holiday spirit.”

“I call it silliness,” Bruce said. Clark freed him then, so he took a half a step back and crossed his arms. “Really. Even Dick wouldn’t have tried that.”

Clark shrugged. “Because he probably doesn’t know that you secretly like that sort of thing. You know, mirth.”

Bruce cocked an eyebrow and began to walk for the stairs back up to the main house. “You think so, do you?”

“Why would you be with _me_ otherwise?” Clark asked with a grin, following close behind the other man. “And besides, that pinch was justified. You’re _not_ wearing green.”

Bruce wheeled on Clark and crossed his arms. “Mr. Kent, if you’re planning on pursuing that line of thought, I’d like you to recall what I have that’s green.”

Clark’s eyes flashed mischievously and he gave this wicked little smile Bruce had only ever seen directed at himself, and said, “That may have been a low blow.”

“Maybe so,” Bruce replied, grabbing Clark’s hand. “Now, come on. Dinner is in the kitchen.”

They went upstairs and into the kitchen, where they found Alfred fixing their plates for dinner. “Ahh, Mr. Kent,” Alfred said brightly. “Good of you to join us this evening.”

As Clark was returning the greetings and making small talk, Bruce’s eyes were drawn to a flash of green around Alfred’s neck. Since Bruce had left the kitchen earlier, he had put on an emerald green bowtie. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Bruce sat down at the counter and glanced between Clark and the chair beside him. Clark noticed and sat down, so Alfred sat their plates of corned beef, cabbage, and potatoes in front of them.

Alfred nodded curtly. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me...” He slipped around behind Bruce, which was slightly unusual. And then it all made sense when Bruce felt a pinch on his upper arm as Alfred was slipping away.

Bruce gasped and then looked at Clark. “You told him to do that, didn’t you?”

“Do what?” Clark asked innocently, taking a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

Bruce fought to hold back his smile. “Every time I get pinched, you’re going to pay for it later.”

Clark cocked his head. “Uh huh. And how _exactly_ will I be paying for it? I’m genuinely curious.”

Bruce simply stabbed his corned beef with his fork and took a little bite. With a raised eyebrow, he said, “You know, I’m glad I asked Alfred to prepare this. It’s quite nice.” Maybe he smirked a little bit too. He knew Clark knew exactly what he meant.

“Suppose it doesn’t count if I pinch you again?” Clark asked. He was eager… and Bruce _loved_ that. He had to concentrate very hard at not letting his own excitement take over, because there was a time and a place… and it was important that _he_ chose both.

Instead of responding to that, he took a bite of his cabbage. “I don’t usually like cooked cabbage much. Prefer it in a salad.”

Clark nodded. “I see.” They ate in silence for a few minutes, and then Clark eventually said, “You know, I almost brought you something green.”

“Oh?” Bruce asked, genuinely curious.

“I had to stop at the drugstore for _supplies_ ,” Clark began, and Bruce almost laughed at the fact that Clark wasn’t able to say that he bought condoms and lube but was easily able to say at least a dozen euphemisms for the male genitalia… and last time he’d come to visit, he had used the word _fuck_ a record _eighteen_ times in the span of two minutes.

Bruce actually found that rather endearing, and that thought made him sigh out loud.

Clark cocked an eyebrow at the sigh, but didn’t respond. Instead he continued to say, “I saw these little leprechaun party hats. They were all green and glittery and said ‘Luck of the Irish’ and ‘Erin go Bragh…’ Things like that. But I didn’t figure you’d want to wear one.”

Bruce snorted. “You figured right.”

Clark nudged Bruce with his elbow and kept eating, but Bruce saw that he had this dorky little smile on his face…. And he really hated that seeing that smile made _him_ smile, too. He sometimes hated that as far as things went with Clark, he always found himself wanting them to continue… to go even further. It bothered him that the more scared he got, the more comfortable he got at the same time.

He blamed Clark entirely for _that_ , too.

“Hey,” Bruce began, tilting his head slightly. “Let’s wrap this up. The meal, I mean.”

“Why?” Clark asked, smiling playfully. “You got plans for me?” And Bruce just smirked. Clark knew.

&&&

“You’re telling me you had no idea they were glow-in-the-dark and green when you bought them?” Bruce asked dubiously.

“Mm,” Clark hummed noncommittally beneath him. They were cuddled up, naked on the floor, because they hadn’t quite made it to the bed earlier.

Bruce kissed Clark’s collarbone once and looked up into his very blue eyes. “I’m actually surprised you didn’t get shamrock printed condoms.”

“I’m sure I could have, but I wasn’t going to chance that you wouldn’t want to have sex if I did,” Clark replied, grinning.

Bruce scoffed. “It’d take more than that to turn me off. Might have made you go bareback though.”

Clark shifted his hips slightly so their lengths rubbed against one another. “Well, now I know for next time.” His hands ghosted up Bruce’s back and tangled in his hair as he brought their faces together for a long, lazy kiss that felt like it could potentially hold the answer to every question Bruce had ever asked himself but was afraid to voice out loud.

“Round two?” Clark asked.

“On the bed this time,” Bruce agreed.

&&&

“What’s the matter?” Bruce grumbled some time later, realizing he was practically wrapped around Clark’s naked waist. But he was too tired to care. The only reason he’d been startled awake was because Clark had sat up, and that in itself was unusual.

“Nothing,” Clark rushed to reassure. “I mean, I’m sure everything is fine, but…”

Bruce sighed. “Say it, Clark. Whatever you’re trying to keep me from finding out.”

Clark nodded. “Your kid is home.”

Bruce failed to see why that warranted Clark bolting upright like he’d had a nightmare in a movie. “So?”

“Well… he came in the window,” Clark began. “And it sounded like he crashed into the window before he came in… and he tripped once he was inside the room.”

He was awake now. Sitting up, Bruce simply said, “Oh.” Either Dick had taken ill at this party, or he had come home drunk. And Bruce knew which was more likely.

“Do you want me to…?” Clark began.

But Bruce simply shook his head. “I’ll handle it,” he snapped, voice a little harder than he meant it to be. But Clark nodded back, and Bruce gave a very quick, and hopefully comforting, pat to his hand.

He got out of bed and drew on his bathrobe before slipping down the hall to Dick’s bedroom and letting himself in without knocking (because this wasn’t the time to respect the boy’s privacy).

He had known that allowing Dick to go to this party was foolish… this is what he got for going against his own better judgment. And if he hadn’t known before that Dick was drunk, seeing him would prove it. His face was pale (almost as pale as the time when he was ten and had that horrible stomach flu) but his nose was as rosy as Clark’s cape. And he was standing beside his dresser trying to get into his pajamas, but his arm was stretched up over his head and sticking out the neck hole of his t-shirt.

“Oh thank God yer here,” the boy slurred. “Help me out of this stupid shirt… s’ broken, I think.” Bruce sighed and considered letting him find his own way out of the t-shirt, but he didn’t have the heart to leave him like that. He looked like an overgrown quail or something.

“Izzit time for patrol?” Dick asked, once Bruce had helped him get the shirt down over his arm.

“I don’t believe there’s going to be any patrol for you tonight, young man,” Bruce said sternly. “You are… intoxicated. Aren’t you?”

Dick scrunched his nose. “No no, now. Don’ be silly. I am not inta… in… what you said.”

“Oh, I see,” Bruce nodded. “You just do a really good impersonation of Dean Martin.”

Dick paused. “Who?”

With a sigh, Bruce went on, “It doesn’t matter. But I’m not blind. I can tell you’ve been drinking. And for the record, you reek of alcohol, so even if I was blind I could tell.”

Dick shook his head. “Nah nah nah. I think you are miss-take-in.” Bruce rolled his eyes at the boy for trying so hard to pronounce things clearly that he was over-articulating. “I may have had a beer, but I’m not drunk.” Then he came a little closer. “Bruce, it was the mos’ a- _maze_ -ing thing. D’you know they make beer in green now?”

Bruce crossed his arms. “Dick, I…”

“Green,” Dick mumbled. “Yer not wearin’ any green.” And with a mischievous, almost impish grin, he stretched his hand towards Bruce’s face and pinched his cheek. Bruce gaped, in too much shock to move at first. But once his senses had returned, he gently but purposefully knocked the boy’s hand away.

“Goddammit, Clark,” he muttered. But he immediately regretted it once he had said it, because he heard a footfall approaching them.

Well intentioned Clark knocked once at the door before poking his head in. He was wearing Bruce’s other robe, his glasses, and a look of genuine concern. “Is everything okay in here?”

“Hey, Clark, buddy,” Dick managed. “I’m not surprised t’ see you here.”

Clark didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he simply nodded. Then, cocking his head, he observed, “You look a little bit off… you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m great!” the boy replied, managing a grin.

Bruce nodded. “He’s drunk.”

“He’s mad ‘cause he got pinched,” Dick replied with a little shrug.

But by this point, Bruce was upset. Here he was trying to be stern with the boy, raise him the right way, and Clark waltzes in and would probably end up stroking Dick’s hair and putting him to bed… because he was just that kind of soft touch. And once again, Bruce would be the bad guy. And he didn’t need Clark there for that.

“Clark, would you just go back to bed and stay out of this?” Bruce bit out. “I told you I could handle it.”

Clark furrowed his brows. “I’m not trying to intrude, I just…”

“I don’t need your help,” Bruce snapped. Pointing to the door, he ordered, “ _Go_.”

Clark exhaled slowly, and Bruce could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Clark probably thought he should supervise this conversation, because he was just that kind of person. He wanted to be here to lend support… but Bruce didn’t need it. And he was just going to _defend_ Dick, probably offer some folksy wisdom about how “boys would be boys.” Bruce didn’t need that either. But without another word, Clark left, seemingly deciding that this was not his battle, and Bruce turned back to Dick.

But seeing Clark go, anger and disappointment and maybe even a bit of hurt on his face, Bruce was no longer upset. He was _mad_. Not at Clark for being Clark, not at Dick for a youthful indiscretion, and not at himself for knowing how to handle any of it, but at all of those things combined. At the situation that had bested him. And in absence of an outlet for that anger, he turned to Dick and practically snorted.

“I have never been so disappointed in you,” Bruce spat. “I trusted you to conduct yourself in an appropriate manner, and you broke that trust. Any other young man and this would be worth a slap on the wrist, perhaps a grounding, but I expected more from you.”

Dick straightened up. “I… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” Bruce replied, shaking his head. “I no longer feel I can trust you. What would have happened if I had asked you to meet me out on patrol and you went out onto the streets like this? You could have gotten yourself hurt, or worse.”

“But Bruce –“

Bruce shook his head. “But nothing, young man. I cannot support a partner I can’t trust.” He took a deep breath. “You can’t be Robin anymore.”

Dick’s eyes grew large and glassy immediately. “You can’t mean that! I’m sorry, Bruce! I’m sorry! I know I fucked up, but I didn’t think…”

“No, you didn’t,” Bruce interrupted. “And that’s precisely the problem.”

“I… I,” Dick stammered. But studying his face, Bruce realized the stammering was because of more than just the boy’s emotions. His already pale face was white as a sheet now and he had beads of sweat on his brow. But before anything could be done to stop it, Dick bent over and vomited on the carpet and Bruce’s feet and ankles.

Bruce closed his eyes for a split second to compose himself. He had dealt with bodily fluids before. Had to stakeout in sewers, provided first aid to poison victims… hell, he’d dealt with Dick puking on him with the stomach flu when he was younger. But this feeling wasn’t disgust. It was indignation.

“Ohmygod, I am so sorry,” Dick mumbled, though the words were difficult to distinguish with his hands pressed to his mouth.

“I don’t believe the subject warrants further discussion,” Bruce replied coolly. “Alfred will be in here to check on you soon. I will see you in the morning.”

He stalked back to his room carefully, and found Clark sitting on the bed, dressed again and waiting. “I suppose you think I deserve this,” he said, motioning to his feet.

Clark sighed. “I think you need a shower.” He waved him on to the bathroom. “I’ll wait.”

Bruce sighed and stepped into the bathroom. While he was in the shower, he anticipated what Clark would say. Clark would tell him that he had overreacted, that Dick needed room to make the mistakes teenagers make and learn from them. To that Bruce would say mistakes could get Dick get killed in the field. Clark would reply that if Bruce had trusted Dick as a child, he should certainly trust him now that he was older and more experienced. And Bruce would say… well, he would _want_ to say that now that he had Dick in his life, he wouldn’t be able to handle it if something happened to the boy. But he wouldn’t say that… he wouldn’t have to, because Clark would understand. He always did.

He stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off briefly. He stepped back into the bedroom and gave Clark an expectant look. “Let me have it,” he said. “I’m sure that you’ve got plenty of material, since you had that extra few minutes to think on it.”

“If I wanted to tell you why you were stubborn, I wouldn’t have to think about it,” Clark replied, eyebrow cocked. “I just wanted to say that I agree with you.”

That stopped Bruce dead in his tracks. “You… agree.”

“Mhm,” Clark replied with an emphatic nod. “I think you were right. That boy is nothing but trouble, running around, drinking and carousing… what he needs is a reform school, not access to the Batcave.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

Clark shrugged. “I’m not kidding. You really laid into him… you made him cry until he puked. Bet that taught him.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Clark,” Bruce sighed. “I did not make that boy puke. Green beer made him puke.”

“Bruce, you know how I hate to be predictable, but I do think you overreacted,” Clark said. “ _Punish_ him, yes, but don’t take everything from him.”

“I didn’t…”

“You just took your acceptance of him away, as a punishment,” Clark went on. “That has to feel like your… your _love_ is conditional.”

Bruce sighed and put his hand on his forehead. “Clark, this is not an after school special. It’s real life… life or death, in fact. He proved tonight that he cannot be trusted out of my sight for five minutes. I didn’t do what I did out of a lack of concern for him.”

Clark nodded. “I know that. I know you love him, and I’m sure he does too. But… just imagine what he must be feeling. He’s never done anything like this before… how do you know he’ll do it again?”

“He very well could, if I let him get away with it,” Bruce reasoned. He heaved another sigh and sat down on the bed next to Clark. “I was in over my head with this kid when he was a kid… but he’s in high school now. I have no idea how to… parent a young man.”

Clark gave a little half-smile. “I guess that’s the thing about being a parent. You learn on the job.”

Bruce nodded. Clark was right, of course. But… what was he supposed to do in this situation? This holiday had been so much simpler when he was getting pinched and being threatened with a lesson on potato mashing.

“If I grounded him he’d have been able to sneak out of the house easily enough,” Bruce began. “Even if I put him in the attic, he could get out. If I took away any of his electronics, he has others stashed in his room. He could figure his way out of anything.” He sighed and looked Clark in the eyes. “How do you punish an acrobatic vigilante detective-in-training?”

Clark laughed briefly and took Bruce’s hand. “I have no idea. But maybe we could figure something out together?”

Bruce simply smiled and nodded because sometimes he still couldn’t believe how lucky he was. “Do you remember me saying that you were going to pay for it every time I got pinched?”

Clark smiled coyly. “I seem to recall a comment to that effect, yes.”

“Well, I got another pinch,” Bruce said leadingly. “And I’ll give you half a second to get out of those clothes.”

“And what happens if I don’t make it in time?” Clark asked.

Bruce dropped his towel and poured himself into Clark’s lap, straddling him. “You’ll find out, don’t you worry.”

&&&

The next morning, Bruce and Clark woke up early, shared a shower, and got dressed. Clark went downstairs to get coffee and Bruce went and woke Dick, who was experiencing his first hangover. The boy grumbled and hauled himself out of bed under Bruce’s critical eye and could hardly motivate himself to walk upright. Bruce had to remind himself that he was mad at the boy, because he felt himself fighting the urge to wrap Dick in a blanket and send him back to bed.

The two of them joined Clark in the kitchen some minutes later, and Dick frowned at the light streaming in through the windows.

“You hate the daylight,” he grumbled. “How can you stand this?”

Bruce shook his head. “Because _I_ don’t have a hangover. Now sit down.”

Dick took a seat at the counter and laid his head on the cool tile, but Bruce cleared his throat and Dick snapped to attention as best he could.

“I’ve reached a decision,” Bruce began. “In weighing your past performance against this one indiscretion, I have decided…”  Then, glancing at Clark, he conceded, “ _We_ have decided that you may continue to be Robin… but conditionally.  You are now on probation.”

Dick smiled. “Oh, Bruce, thank you! Thank you too, Clark.”

Clark smiled, but Bruce crossed his arms, all business. “As I said, there will be conditions. Nothing like this can ever happen again.”

“It won’t,” Dick insisted. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Everyone says that,” Clark replied with a laugh.

With a cocked brow, Bruce went on, “But you better mean it. No screw ups whatsoever, you hear me? Best behavior at all times, of course. You will continue to maintain at least a 3.0 grade point average, and you will continue your extracurricular activities and Alfred’s lessons.”

“That sounds fair,” Dick nodded.

Bruce looked to Clark, and said, “More than fair, if you ask me. Charitable even.”

“But you have to understand there will be consequences for your actions,” Clark went on, ignoring the pointed look Bruce had aimed at him. “You’re going to have to be punished.”

Dick nodded eagerly, obviously wanting to appear a team player. “I understand. I’ll take my lumps.”

“First of all,” Bruce began, “You are going to shampoo your carpet. By hand. You’ll also be responsible for cleaning your bathroom, which is a horrendous mess, and for your own laundry.”

“Okay,” Dick agreed.

“Second, you will now come straight home after school every day, and you won’t be allowed to go to parties or on dates for the next month,” Bruce went on.

“A _month_?” Dick exclaimed.

Clark smiled. “Take the month! I had to argue him down from a year.”

Dick sighed and nodded. “Fine. A month. Go on.”

“Third, your allowance is being cut by fifty percent for the duration of your punishment,” Bruce added. Dick simply nodded, so Bruce went on, “And finally, you will tell me the names of the children who brought the alcohol to this party.”

Dick furrowed his brows. “What? Why?”

“Because I asked you to do so,” Bruce replied. “And because you know better than to question me.”

“What are you going to do to them?” the boy asked uneasily.

Clark gave Bruce a look and said, “I’m sure he just wants to know for the sake of knowing. And because we’re going to have to think about whether or not you’re going to be allowed to see those kids again.”

“And because I can and will find out on my own if you don’t tell me,” Bruce cut in.

“Of course,” Dick said with a nod. “I’ll have a list for you later. Now… can I be excused?”

“It’s ‘may I,’” Bruce replied. “And yes, you may.”

Dick got out of his chair and turned to leave. But before he went, he gave a little nod to the two men in front of him and said, “Thanks. Thanks again for… you know.”

Bruce nodded and Clark smiled, and at that the boy left. When they were alone again, the two men both sighed in relief that that conversation had been relatively pain free. Clark slid a coffee mug across to Bruce and watched as he happily drank.

Bruce peered over the top of his mug, aware that Clark was watching him. Bruce knew that there were things he could say to Clark… things he probably should say. He knew he needed to stop fighting how much he needed Clark in every possible way, and he intended to do that. But right now, all he could say was, “I’ll see you this evening.”

“This evening?” Clark asked. “Did we… do we have plans?”

Bruce sipped his coffee and shook his head. “No. I just want to see you again.”

“Oh,” Clark said with a little smile. “Well, good.” He came close and pressed a kiss to Bruce’s cheek. “I always want to see you again.”

“Get out of here before you’re late for work, you big sap,” Bruce replied easily. He grabbed Clark by the shirt collar and pulled him close for a kiss, long and deep and deliciously coffee flavored.

Clark grinned when they pulled apart. “Takes a sap to know a sap.” He nuzzled his face against Bruce’s briefly and gave one more brief kiss before he pulled away. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Bruce nodded, unable to really respond verbally. But there wasn’t much to say after all. He knew Clark understood.


End file.
